


Joyful and Triumphant

by Ghostcat



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Caper Fic, Drabble Collection, F/F, Fake-Out Make-Out, Femme!Logan, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Missing Scene, POV switch, Preseries, Prompt Fic, Romance, Step-siblings, gender swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostcat/pseuds/Ghostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and ficlets inspired by the Veronica Mars Universe, both TV show and the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joyful and Triumphant

**Author's Note:**

> Veronica Mars ficlets, of varying stripe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a trick to this, an age-old trick: whatever you do, don’t look into her eyes. Once you look in Logan’s eyes, it’s  _over_. Veronica spies on Femme!Logan at the alternaprom and tries to avoid the tractor beam stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joyful and Triumphant was written in response to a beautiful birthday graphic courtesy of the lovely and talented [lilamadison11](http://www.lilamadison11.tumblr.com). I wanted fan created work and specifically requested genderflipped VM since there isn't much of it, oddly, and why not expand the AU options out there?
> 
> Special shout out to [Macha S. Wicket](http://www.machaswicket.tumblr.com) for giving this ficlet a quick grammar once-over. Much appreciated.
> 
> Thank you to all of my VM fandom friends who have made me the happiest of birthday girls. Your work is so amazing!  
> 
> 
>   
>  [](http://imgur.com/pVrux0T)   
>  [](http://imgur.com/XzFEH3I)   
>  [](http://imgur.com/1rPiPy3)   
> 
> 
>   
> 

There’s a trick to this, an age-old trick: whatever you do, don’t look into her eyes. Once you look in Logan’s eyes, it’s  _over_. She will talk you into helping her crazy glue the head of one of Celeste Kane’s figurines on backwards; counsel her on morality and how that relates to  _not_  breaking the hearts of sixteen year olds who are innocent of their father’s crimes; or kiss her, slowly, in one long panoramic swoop on the balcony of a tawdry motel, high on adrenaline and relief. No, that wasn’t true. Logan hadn’t needed words to talk her into that last one. She used her eyes, like always, large, brown and warm, and the whites underneath, the very picture of truth. Like Bacall looking up at Bogie, chin down, eyes up, telling him to put his lips together and blow, her insolence a poor diversion for the desire evident on her face. Logan didn’t even need the insolence, though she had her own special brand of it, it was all right there in the way she looked at Veronica: desire and truth. Logan Echolls, her own personal Femme Fatale.

Veronica snorts to herself and lets her gaze slide over to Logan, standing by the wall, a few people away. She focuses on her shoulders, specifically the exposed curve of her smooth, tanned skin, the pristine whiteness of her dress and feels acutely, with a pang, like the poor plain country cousin in her simpler, cheaper black one.  _This is not a competition_ , she chastises herself ( _or a seduction_  an even smaller voice whispers.) It really doesn’t matter how either of them look or smell or taste, she’ll be saying Sayonara to all this madness soon and the future can’t come fucking fast enough.

The thing is… Veronica can’t stop sneaking surreptitious glances. Logan is effortlessly beautiful, even now, hours after the start of the party. Her hair loosened from her up-do by her ever-moving fingers, face flushed, perspiration dampening the loose strands at her temple. In her peripheral vision, Veronica spies Logan taking a deep pull from a bottle of Dom Perignon and kicking off her heels, the arches of her feet dancer-high as she spins around to talk to one of her genius entourage, slightly unsteady but still graceful. She lazily scratches her calf with her foot, tapping the bottle against her leg. Casual, easy, and not far away at all.

Veronica slips then, her gaze going from leg to hip to neck and further up, straight into Logan’s eyes which stare right back. Her smile curving upwards into something like genuine excitement, hopeful and soft. Dammit. Not the tractor beam, not the tractor beam. Veronica straightens her shoulders and walks the few steps over to her, black dress and white dress, chess pieces, Queen to Queen. All the while thinking:  _Look, cool. Unbothered. Stick to neutral topics. Be a passive observer. Joke around. This is not about you. Or the girl you still care about way too much. Stop looking. Stop._


	2. The Accidental Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica evades Hearst campus police with the help of Mac and an enterprising Wallace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt furnished by [nevertothethird](http://www.nevertothethird.tumblr.com) \- Trope: accidental kiss. Setting: Veronica Mars AU where Vee didn’t transfer to Stanford. Ship: Veronica/Logan or Wallace/Mac or Parker with someone (not Logan).
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all typos, grammar-crimes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.

She skidded around the corner to a small dead end courtyard over by Barrow Hall and found Wallace and Mac sitting by the campus map. Why had she picked this spot to meet,  _why, why, why?_  They stood up quickly. Mac squeezed her water bottle too tightly and it popped loud.

Veronica stopped and slumped forward, out of breath and clutching her side. “They’re coming.”

"Who?" said Wallace, looking past her with alarm.

"Campus police." Veronica snatched the water bottle from Mac’s hand and doused her hair. Off of Wallace’s look, "To make my hair look darker. They’re looking for a blonde. Me."

"What do you want us to do?" Mac’s nodded once, her eyes wide, a combination of nerves and steely resolve.

Veronica sighed, still winded. “I don’t know. Create a diversion? Do you have bongos, can you start a drum circle? How about a hacky sack? Impromptu miming? Slam poetry? I’m out of ideas, guys.”

Wallace looked past her, stiffening. “Veronica, they’re here,” he whispered.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._  She dug around her bag for something to read and/or look busy with. She heard the guards coming down the stone steps, closer to where they stood. Veronica did a quick scan of the place. There were three people sunning themselves just past them and a man sketching by the fountain. They could easily case the joint without having to walk around. She found a brochure for the Hearst Student Health Center. Get tested for STD, Prevention and Protection!  _Wonderful. Where were you when I was in high school?_

The guards stopped, right behind her. She held her breath for a slow count of five and glanced up. The guards weren’t even looking at her, they were looking to the left of her, over her shoulder. She followed the trajectory and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Wallace had Mac in an intense lip lock. Full on sucking face. His arms were tight around her waist and he was dipping her back. Mac clutched, actually  _clutched_ his sleeves, the material fisted up in her hands. Veronica could not look away. It was hypnotic. She turned, glancing towards the stairs and caught the eye of one of the guards, who seemed to be enjoying her reaction because he winked at her. She winced and looked away, shaking her head. No acting necessary. She was stunned. Zapped by Mr. Sparky stunned. The guards walked past the still-kissing pair, did a quick turn around the fountain, and headed out of the area, one of them shouting numbers into his walkie talkie. Mac and Wallace kissed for another ten seconds or so, then Wallace opened an eye, then the other. He disengaged himself gently from Mac’s mouth and gave her a pat on the shoulder. 

Mac looked blank and wide-eyed. “Ooookay.”

"Yeah, me too. What was that?" Veronica pointed at the two of them.

"That was a diversion, Veronica Mars. You see any guards around?  No, I don’t. Why, thank you, Wallace for your quick-ass thinking." He turned to Mac sheepishly. "Sorry, Mac. You okay?"

Mac shrugged, nodded, and kept nodding. Veronica eyebrows were looking to move past her hairline.

"What?" Wallace scoffed. "V.  _Nothing_  pulls focus more than a black man kissing a white lady. That’s a fact.”

Veronica opened her mouth. Nope. She had nothing.

"2009, huh? And I thought we'd be living on spaceships by now." His smile was rueful. "So, come on. Let’s get out of here. I presume we have some 'borrowed' microfilm to inspect. Sorry again, Mac."

Wallace strode off up the stairs, gesturing for them to follow after getting to the top and scanning the area. Mac gawped at him, kohl-rimmed eyes enormous, like he was suddenly brand new.

_Okay, Wallace. I guess the fair sex *is* your department._  Veronica grabbed Mac’s hand. They ran after him, towards Simeon Hall, where hopefully Parker would be be waiting with the getaway car, engine running and ready to go.


	3. Was There Meaning In It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13 year old Logan Echolls and 14 year old Veronica Mars wait at the Kane estate for their long-delayed weekend hosts. POV switch from A Trace of Meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt from mysilverylining - POV: something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective. 
> 
> Setting: POV switch from Logan to Veronica for a scene from [A Trace of Meaning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/989538).
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all typos, grammar-crimes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.

It turns out that Logan Echolls can be patient when he wants to be. This is mind-blowing on a very basic level. Like her dad with long hair on his college ID photo. Or animals from Australia. For the past twenty minutes, he’s been quietly and thoroughly explaining the rules of some card game but she just isn’t into it. It’s more interesting to watch him try, eyes earnest, fingers pointing emphatically at cards, than to actually listen. At some point, he catches on and says, “You don’t care, do you?”

“Nope.” She shrugs. “Believe me, my dad has tried. I don’t think I was meant to be a card shark. It’s my eyes, they give it all away.” She opens them wide for emphasis.

He laughs softly and collects the cards, sliding them back into the deck. She’s never seen him so relaxed. It’s unnerving but also great, he’s not a blur rushing past her in one of the Kane’s many hallways, talking excitedly about some You Tube prank anymore. He’s a person! He sits, he listens, he’s… sweet. She shakes her head involuntarily, as if the thought is too bizarre to contemplate because, well… it _is_. Logan ducks his head down and looks up at her, raising his eyebrows. His cell phone rings.

“Dude!” His voice cracks. She smiles. He immediately returns to his default hyperactive state; fingers picking at some imaginary spot on the table, jiggling his leg restlessly, making her chair shake. If Lilly were here, she’d be telling him to cut it out and hitting him with a rolled up People magazine. Then again, if Lilly were here, they wouldn’t be talking at all.

She crosses her arms, tilts her head and tries her best to decipher the conversation with only Logan’s replies as clues.

They’re kind of adorable together, Duncan and Logan. Logan is all action and Duncan hangs back but there’s never any doubt that they’re better together. She never even knew Duncan could speak in full sentences or laugh until Logan moved to Neptune. Turns out Duncan has a great laugh. And cheeks. And eyes.

“Yeah, we’re both here.”

She snaps out of her daydream at the sound of the “we’re” and catches Logan glancing over, giving her a small smile. He stops his manic leg-jiggling suddenly, looking up at the sky in an exasperated way that puts her on alert.

“Right.”

It doesn’t sound right. He shakes his head with a sigh. _Disappointed?_ Looks like she may have to go home after all.

Logan laughs and bites at his sleeve. “Sure, man. I’ll be good.”

She waves her hands in front of his face, tries to get him to acknowledge her presence. _What’s happening?_ she mouths. He waves his hand at her dismissively. She tries for his phone but he keeps angling his body away.

“See ya.” He hits end call and stands up. She follows. Veronica attempts another phone-grab, but he holds it above her head. She jumps for the cell twice but stops when she sees just how amused he is by it.

“I wanted to talk to Lilly. What’s going on?” She squints, waits for a silent count of ten, then leaps high one more time, hoping the element of surprise will get her the prize. Logan spins out of reach, throwing himself dramatically on one of the poolside chairs with a bounce and a clang, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

“They’ll be here in a couple of hours.” He looks down at his hands. “But… Miri leaves at 5:00 p.m.”

 _They’re late, that’s it._ She bites her lip and twists her ankle. It helps her think. Should she wait? With no Mrs. Arroyo, they’re all alone. Her mom would freak, she thinks Logan is a menace. He stretches his arms over his head and wiggles his fingers at the sky. There’s never a part of him that isn’t moving. _Focus. Problem. Solve it._ She’ll call her dad. He’ll pick her up. She’ll wait at the station until he’s done with work. Ignore that creepy new deputy who is always smacking his gum. Veronica sighs. She should’ve brought her book.

“You think you’ll be okay without a chaperone for an hour?” he says.

She snorts. “Will _you_?”

“Me? I’ve got you to keep an eye on me.” Logan holds up his hands, framing her like a movie. “Veronica Mars, Lilliputian Terror.”

“Right. I know what you do with your so-called ‘chaperones’.”

As soon as she says it, she knows it’s a mistake.

“Do you?” His voice is icy, unlike himself. Don’t blink, Veronica. _You wanted to know so you had to ask. Play it cool._ She doesn’t back down, keeps her eyes on his, but feels her cheeks grow hot, then hotter, and hopes that he’s been hit with temporary blindness and doesn’t notice. It’s embarrassing to be this embarrassed. Lilly would never be embarrassed. Then again Lilly is fearless. Her, not so much. Surprisingly, he breaks eye contact first. He looks away, his mouth hanging open slightly, covering his hands with his sleeves.

“Or you can call your dad. Go home,” he mumbles.

Veronica has never heard his voice this small. She walks over to him, sits sideways on the pool chair next to his, and reaches out. What she wants to do is hug him, which would be way too weird so she grabs his shirt awkwardly instead, pulling on it as if that means something. _Look at me. Talk to me. Sorry?_ It hits her abruptly. Logan doesn’t want to go home. He’s wanted to stay here all along, wants to stay here still, even if it’s just with her. She’d never noticed that he was lonely. That maybe he felt alone. He was so noisy.

She winces involuntarily, a reflex, then shakes her head. The late afternoon is quiet, the birds are quiet, the wind is quiet, Logan is quiet.


	4. The Right Shade of Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trina finds her jerky little brother hiding in her closet and does the unexpected thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt furnished by [thepageoftarts](http://thepageoftarts.tumblr.com/) \- _A time Logan trusted Trina_.
> 
> Trigger warning: for blood, the suggestion of child abuse, the suggestion of self-harm
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all typos, grammar-crimes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.

She’d only been in her room for a minute when she saw the streak of red nail polish low on the wall. That nosy bitch Ana was skipping her bedroom again. She was going to have to talk to her dad about her. It was bad enough that the black-eyed sneering bitch flirted with her boyfriend, now she wanted her to live in filth. 

Trina bent down to look at it, it wasn’t nail polish. The texture wasn’t right. There was a sound then, like a bit-back cry or a muffled sob, coming from her closet. She pulled the door open, scanned the usual mess of half-hung clothes and scattered footwear and, there, next to her gladiator sandals, was a pair of much smaller shoes, sneakers, with feet and legs attached to them. Skinny, bruised legs with dirty, knobby knees. Her kid brother, hiding in her closet.

"Okay, you. Get out. Now."

The feet stiffened, the legs drew tighter. 

"I’m serious, you little jerk, get out."

He didn’t move.

Her dad’s voice, echoing and hard, cut through the silence from downstairs. Then the familiar thump up the steps, three at a time. He was pissed, she could tell. 

"Oh boy, what did you do this time?"

She peered into the corner where he sat. He had a towel wrapped around his hand, red was seeping through the white. That did not look good.

"Please." The brat’s voice had none of its usual sharp bite. He sounded like a little boy. She forgot sometimes that’s what he was.

There was a crisp three knocks on her door. She stood up and closed the closet door gently, then opened her bedroom door with a toothy grin. Her dad stood there, face red from exertion or frustration, sweating at his temples, his eyes darting just past her, into the room.

"Hi, Daddy." She shifted casually against the wall.

"Hey, sweetheart. Have you seen Logan?"

"Nope." She lied, it was automatic.

Her father’s grinning face fell slightly. He blew out a long puff of air.

"Why? What happened, Daddy?"

"Your mother’s crystal vase is downstairs. Shattered into a dozen little pieces over the foyer. I bet you can guess who’s behind it."

"Oh, that’s what it was." She aimed for thoughtful, it seemed to work.

"What was?"

"Ana. I head her downstairs cursing in Spanish. She’s probably trying to pin it on Logan since he’s such a klutz. I haven’t seen him around all day."

"Ana, huh?" He furrowed his brows.

"Yes, daddy. I’m pretty sure she’s stealing L—  _mom’s_  clothes. I saw her leaving with a couple of big garbage bags. She didn’t throw them out or anything, she took them with her when that car came to pick her up.”

"I see. I’ll have to have a talk with her."

"Yeah, you should. I feel like she’s taking advantage of you because you’re such a nice boss."

Her dad's face melted into a slow, wide smile. "Right. Okay, angel. What do you want for dinner later? I’m cooking," he said expansively, giving her the ingratiating smile she loved most.

"Ooh, can we go out instead? Take me to the Ivy? Please? I’ll dress up! I can be your date." She twirled around and he laughed.

"Sure thing, my love. I have to run a couple of errands but then I’ll come back and get you. How do you like that?"

"Sounds amazing!"

He kissed her on the nose and hopped on down the stairs.

"Wait." Trina shouted after him. "What about the glass downstairs, Daddy?"

"Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up. Just work on getting ready."

She watched him go, listening to the fade of his footsteps down the stairs to the first floor. She closed the door, sat on her bed. She played with the bracelets stacked on her wrist, turning them, lining up the colors. She kept listening. Her heartbeat was steady and her head felt light and bright, no stress at all. Too bad they don’t give out Oscars for this. She was the Meryl Streep of liars. Finally, after a few minutes, the front door, her dad's car, the gate— opening and closing. Mission accomplished. She returned to the closet.

"Come on, Logan."

She kneeled down and gave his ankle a poke. His face was splotchy around his cheeks and mouth and pale everywhere else. His dirty blond hair was damp and he breathed out of his mouth in soundless gasps, as if he was sobbing, but there were no tears there. He crawled out on his knees, slowly, holding the towel covered hand to his chest. She tired of his progress and picked him up, carrying him to the bathroom. He was lighter than she expected. It was unsettling. She didn’t know why she was doing it— being _nice_ to him. Maybe because he wouldn’t stop shaking or maybe because his shoulders looked so small. He barely made any noise as she took care of his hand, removing all the tiny pieces of glass, cleaning and sterilizing. It wasn’t so bad, it would heal fine. She secured some of the extra gauze she had stashed in one of the cabinets around his palm. She was an expert at this, almost. She had her own reasons for knowing how to clean a cut.

Trina stood up and crossed her arms. "Next time, stay the fuck out of my room. I won’t be helping. You got it?" She leaned into his face. "Man up. Take the spanking. I mean it."

He nodded. There was that sullen little stare she was used to.

"Go call your mom, she’s at the hair salon. She’ll come up with something to explain that." She gestured towards his bandage. It looked like he wanted to say something and she was already bored of waiting for him to squeak it out. She rolled her eyes and shoved him in the direction of the door, his flash of a wince spurring a dull, single thump in her chest, like a bird hitting glass and dropping. "Go. Get out. And don’t forget. You owe me BIG, kid."

He gave her the finger and ran off down the hall, slamming the door behind him. 

Trina walked over to her mirror and assessed. Blood red, not orange or fuchsia. Deep, dark, mature. That’s the color she’d use on her lips. She was old enough to pull it off. Maybe a black dress. She spun around and widened her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Yeah. Do-gooding looked good on her.


	5. True Poems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan waits outside the Mars residence for that long delayed dinner. Post "180 days" deployment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt furnished by lilamadison11 - Keith and Logan see each other after 180 days
> 
> Un-beta'd, so all typos, grammar-crimes are mine and mine alone. Apologies.

He’s early so he decides to wait outside rather than call her. He doesn’t mind it. He likes the quiet before, the anticipation, the way his nerves skitter.

A gnat or a mosquito whines by his left ear and he swats the side of his neck. He looks at his hand, nothing. Except a long, thin scratch between his thumb and index finger that has nothing to do with insect bites and everything to do with Veronica’s unexpected (and unexpectedly delightful) drive-by last night. He smiles.

"I see someone’s in a good mood."

_Shit. Fuck. Shit._

Keith Mars is standing on the sidewalk holding a bag of groceries, squinting at him with those I-see-everything-including-the-pornographic-thoughts-you-just-had-of-my-only-daughter eyes of his, dark and sharp as flint. Veronica said he still needed a cane to walk around but Logan notes that he is without and that he probably shouldn’t be. One of his legs is turned slightly inwards, the opposite shoulder tilts up to compensate and his mouth is tight in a way that probably has nothing to do with him. For once.

"Logan."

No one says his name like Keith Mars. It’s like he puts disappointment in the first vowel and suspicion in the second. When he was a teenager it used to make Logan want to prove him right, but now he only hears Veronica in it. Context, as they say, is everything.

Logan straightens up, squares his shoulders and extends his hand.

"Sir."

Keith takes it.


End file.
